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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889817">everywhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas'>avosettas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Comfort Sex, Crosstale Sans (Undertale), Crosstale Sans/Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Praise Kink, Sensory Overload, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:00:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosettas/pseuds/avosettas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything - the fabric of his clothing, the fabric of the bedspread, the light… It’s all too much, after spending hours locked in a dark and empty room. </p>
<p>(Locking himself voluntarily into his own darkened and emptied room.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>everywhere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820421">nusquam</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/esqers/pseuds/esqers">esqers</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>technically not a sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820421">nusquam</a>, but the inspiration came from the same thread. armethaumaturgy is ENTIRELY to blame for this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cross shivers when he’s placed on the bed. He sinks slightly into the comforter, but under Nightmare’s gaze, he wishes he’d sink through the entire bed. </p>
<p>Nightmare’s room is a lot, at least compared to his own. Or compared to what he’d done to his own. The bedside lamp is dim, illuminating only the bed itself, with Cross on top of it and Nightmare standing above him, but the rest of the room is in shadow. Everything is blurred on the edges, like he’s seeing it through tears, but he knows he isn’t crying.</p>
<p>The comforter is soft, and deep purple, though it’s obviously been in use for a bit - the wear is clear on it, softening the fabric pleasantly. The bed has posts on it, and a headboard, unlike Cross’s own; his was about as sparse and comfortable as a soldier’s cot. He can’t see the walls, or remember the color of them, but he knows there are bookshelves - </p>
<p>A hand cups his skull, trailing from just above his left zygomatic down to his mandible, gentle but icy cold. “Stop,” Nightmare orders softly. </p>
<p>Cross can see his own chest moving in his peripheral vision, and it’s only then that he registers his fast, erratic breathing. Each heavy breath barely expands his ribcage, and Nightmare watches impassively. </p>
<p>“You’re only working yourself up more,” he says, removing his hand, and Cross doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Everything feels strange and too much and too little all at once.</p>
<p>But then Nightmare shifts to sit beside him on the bed, and he calms slightly. The same chilly hand strokes his skull, barely touching him, but it gives Cross something to focus on instead of -</p>
<p>“Stop,” Nightmare tells him again, just as calm as the first time, and Cross doesn’t know what he’s done. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound will come out aside from pitiful, incoherent noises - it feels like something’s been shoved down his false throat, blocking everything else from exiting or entering. </p>
<p>“As I said, you’re just working yourself up into another episode,” Nightmare murmurs. Cross can’t read him at all, and he flinches when he adds, “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to purposefully send yourself into a flashback. What on earth were you thinking?” </p>
<p>He must sense something in Cross’s emotions, though, because he sighs and amends, “Apologies. I’m not upset with you. Just stressed and unsure how to help.” </p>
<p>Cross doesn’t try to speak again, though he nods ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Nightmare seems to be studying him, and if he had the energy, Cross is sure he’d be uncomfortable. But he doesn’t have the energy for anything, not even talking. </p>
<p>Eventually, Nightmare asks, “Does it still feel like too much?” </p>
<p>Cross nods again. Everything - the fabric of his clothing, the fabric of the bedspread, the light… It’s all too much, after spending hours locked in a dark and empty room. </p>
<p>(Locking himself voluntarily into his own darkened and emptied room.) </p>
<p>The light doesn’t go any dimmer, but as Nightmare moves, it’s easier on his eyes to just see the brightness of the lamp, rather than Nightmare’s dark form in front of it, the light spreading around him like a halo. </p>
<p>“Can you stand?” Cross can barely even move, barely even shake his head to respond. Nightmare gives him only a slight warning, a pause as a tentacle creeps towards Cross, and then Cross is enveloped in the chill of the slime that covers him. </p>
<p>It’s rather grounding, actually - the slime isn’t quite so much to deal with, as opposed to everything else in the room, and it’s cold against his bones. </p>
<p>In the meantime, Nightmare has busied himself with taking the comforter off the bed, folding it into a messy pile on the floor, and then pushing the pillows against the headboard. </p>
<p>The tentacle brings Cross back down onto the edge of the bed, and the sheets aren’t nearly as bad to deal with as the comforter had been. It slips behind his back as it lets him go, keeping him upright even as he slumps. </p>
<p>“I’m going to take your clothes off,” Nightmare tells him, stooping to pull his shoes and socks off. He looks back up, eyelight piercing. “Is that okay?” </p>
<p>Cross nods, though he isn’t sure why Nightmare wants him naked in the first place. Nightmare’s touches are nice, grounding, of course, but they’re all very polite and proper, barely there, and mainly on Cross’s skull. </p>
<p>“I’m sure that all these layers aren’t helping your senses,” Nightmare murmurs as he works Cross’s jacket off, and then his sweater, which rather clears up Cross’s misgivings. His clothing does feel heavy and itchy and just plain <i>too much</i> right now. “Honestly, the way you dress, you would think we live in a perpetual blizzard…” </p>
<p>Cross focuses on his voice as Nightmare strips him, careful hands folding every piece of clothing before moving onto the next, until finally he’s down to only his bare bones. All the while, Nightmare talks, mostly teasing little jabs and reassurances. </p>
<p>It’s calming, but Cross still feels like he’s been plunged underwater, and Nightmare’s talking to him from land. </p>
<p>“Cross,” Nightmare says, and from the tone of his voice, he gets the feeling he’s been trying to get Cross’s attention for quite a bit. “Focus on me.” </p>
<p>He tries. He really tries. But everything is a lot and too little at the same time. </p>
<p>With a sigh, Nightmare moves his legs, lying him supine on the bed once more, and Cross focuses on the hands at his ankles, the tentacle lowering his head downwards. </p>
<p>“You calm down quite a bit when I’m touching you,” Nightmare observes. “Can you speak, Cross?” </p>
<p>A soft noise comes from Cross’s open jaw, but he manages to eventually say, “It - it’s too much and too - too little at the same time.” </p>
<p>He tries to gesture to the room, because Nightmare looks confused, but his hand is caught by another tentacle, pressing it back to its spot at rest beside Cross’s hip. “The room, not me,” Nightmare confirms, and Cross nods.</p>
<p>He studies Cross again, and there’s a tiny feeling of shame, buried deep in Cross’s mind now that he’s naked. He can’t quite focus on it, but he knows Nightmare feels it. </p>
<p>“I’m going to touch you,” he tells Cross. “I need to know that you can communicate to me if I need to stop, though.” </p>
<p>The idea of Nightmare touching him is both pleasant and not - everything is too little and he’s understimulated, he needs touch; but everything is too much, and he’ll surely break down if he’s touched too much, too. And that’s not even calling into question what Nightmare means by “touch”, though Cross decides idly that if the other wanted to fuck him, he wouldn’t mind as long as Nightmare went slowly. </p>
<p>“I understood maybe half of that,” Nightmare says, a knowing smile on his face. “Mainly the last half. You didn’t realize you were speaking, did you?” </p>
<p>“...N-no,” Cross whispers in reply, still struggling to speak. </p>
<p>“But is it true?” He looks concerned; despite having Cross completely at his mercy, Nightmare still takes care with him. “Cross. My touch calmed you, correct?” </p>
<p>Cross can only nod, eventually managing to grit out an affirmative, and Nightmare sits back on his haunches, pleased. “Focus on me. I will go very slowly, and I won’t touch you directly, not with my hands.” A tentacle snakes towards him, and Nightmare pauses. “Give me a safeword, Cross.” </p>
<p>He still can barely speak, and his confused look must convey that well enough, or otherwise his emotions do the job; the tentacle continues its movement to rub against his cheek, not unlike Nightmare’s hand had done earlier, and Nightmare clarifies, “Send an attack up near the side of the bed.” </p>
<p>He does so, the purple bone bursting out of the floor almost unconsciously, and Nightmare smiles. “Good,” he croons, and the tentacle snakes beneath Cross’s jaw, rubbing between each cervical vertebrae. “Do that if you need to stop.” </p>
<p>Cross nods again, and he’s rewarded by that single tentacle dipping to his torso, weaving over his ribs. It’s cold, and he gasps at the feeling of it, slowly gliding over each rib and every intercostal space. </p>
<p>“Good, Cross,” Nightmare murmurs. Another tentacle creeps up Cross’s leg, encircling his femur, and he shudders, though the feeling isn’t unpleasant. “Your emotions have calmed so much already.” </p>
<p>The tendril on his leg slips over his iliac crest, laying itself over both ilia and then heading up towards the base of his spine. Nightmare hums, pleased, when Cross jolts. “Very good.”</p>
<p>The noise he makes in response is less a moan and more a gurgle, but Nightmare seems happy with it anyway, letting out a short rumbling sound in response. “Yes, you’re very good,” he repeats, yet another tentacle slipping away from Nightmare’s body, this one working its way beneath Cross’s skull to cushion his head, though the end hangs over his teeth. </p>
<p>He opens his jaw with no prompting, and it hooks into his mouth, keeping it open to allow Nightmare to hear his panting. The tentacle resting in his pelvis twitches slightly, and Cross’s groan fills the room, drowning out Nightmare’s soft laugh as his hips buck at the slight movement. </p>
<p>“Sensitive. But it’s not surprising, given the day you’ve had.” Nightmare shifts closer, reorienting himself, and Cross whines a bit behind the tentacle in his mouth, slightly muffled. “Hush, I won’t tease,” Nightmare promises, and suddenly his pelvis is lighter.</p>
<p>The groan he releases is completely muffled this time; the tentacle tastes faintly like rotten apples and static electricity, tingling against Cross’s manifested tongue. He can feel more magic coalescing in his pelvis, and the tendril that had retreated returns now, dipping into the unformed magic. </p>
<p>As that one returns, softly prodding at the magic that’s taken its place cradled in his pelvis, the tentacle in Cross’s mouth removes itself, curling around his clavicle instead. “Focus,” Nightmare says from beside him. “Look at me, Cross.” </p>
<p>Cross gasps as he twists his head - the tentacle that’s made its home among his magic certainly isn’t teasing, that’s for sure. Nightmare’s gaze is intense when he meets it, only serving to heighten the sensation of such direct touch. “Good,” Nightmare tells him once more, after Cross has maintained eye contact for a moment. </p>
<p>His eyelight rakes Cross’s body, settling on his unformed magic. “Such a pretty shade of purple,” he murmurs, and Cross twitches under his stare. There’s a cunning glint in Nightmare’s eye as he makes eye contact again. “I’m sure it looks lovely when it’s being used to manifest something.” </p>
<p>His cunt shifts into place quickly with the praise, and Cross sighs shakily at the feeling. The tentacles move, and so does Nightmare; he settles behind Cross’s head, warning, “I’m going to touch your skull, Cross.” </p>
<p>Cross nods, slightly dazed. Nightmare chuckles behind above him, moving Cross’s head to lay in his lap. His tentacles are still shuffling; two wind around Cross’s ankles, bending his legs to his chest to spread them open wide, and a third situates itself near them, hovering near his pussy close enough that he can feel the chill radiating from it. </p>
<p>The final tendril - unless Nightmare’s decided to conjure more than the usual four he always has, of course - slides down Cross’s ribcage, over the taut ecto-flesh forming his abdomen, and finally resting on his waist. He clenches unconsciously, the icy cold radiating from the tendrils the only thing he can focus on. </p>
<p>Finally, one presses to his slit, collecting slick that’s gathered there, and the cold is suddenly all Cross can focus on. Above him, Nightmare hums, pleased with the soft whines Cross releases, though he hushes him softly, quietly telling him, “I told you, I won’t tease. Be patient.” </p>
<p>He clenches his hands into tight fists on the sheets, panting, and Nightmare coos soft praise to him as the tentacle continues to tease, covering itself in Cross’s arousal but never penetrating. The other three never move; the one on his waist so close to his clit that he could shift his hips and knock it into place, if he had the energy. </p>
<p>When Nightmare finally - finally, finally - deems him prepared enough, the tentacle at his entrance presses in slowly, and Cross arches against it. “Look at you,” Nightmare croons. “You’re so very good, Cross, taking what I offer…” </p>
<p>Cross gasps a few times - he’s so full, and the tentacle is hardly pulling out; it’s merely twisting slowly, pleasantly rubbing at his walls. He feels the other on his waist twitch, and then begin moving as well; his whole body trembles when it insinuates itself in his folds, rubbing right against his clit. </p>
<p>He’s not aware that he’s crying until Nightmare thumbs away the tears leaking from his sockets. “You’re doing very well, Cross,” he murmurs. The tendril at Cross’s clit pulls back, leaving only the tip to press at the nub there, almost curling around it. </p>
<p>His gasps are coming faster now, provoked by the dual sensations, and as he presses his hips upwards into both tentacles, ensuring that the one inside him is deep as it can be and the one on his clit presses hard as it can, Nightmare leans down a bit, and whispers, “Cum for me, Cross.” </p>
<p>Cross howls, arching so hard that it’s nearly painful. The tentacles work him through his orgasm, though they slowly pull away, first the one positioned on his clit, and then the one inside him, as he twitches from overstimulation. Faintly, he notes that they’re stained sightly purple. </p>
<p>His legs are set down gently as Nightmare hushes his quiet crying; the other actually seems worried, and Cross manages to choke out, “I - I’m okay,” softly, his bones rattling all the while. </p>
<p>“It was a lot,” Nightmare states, almost a question. Cross whimpers wordlessly in response, and he murmurs, “I know. Let me get a washcloth.” </p>
<p>He barely notices Nightmare is even gone before the other returns, dabbing at Cross with a soft towel soaked in warm water. It’s nice, compared to the frigidness of his tentacles, but the repetitive circles Nightmare scrubs on his dirtied bones are making his eye sockets droop. </p>
<p>Nightmare notices, because of course he does, and without even looking up, he says, “Sleep, Cross.” </p>
<p>Cross protests, though it’s slurred and incomprehensible, even to himself. Nightmare scoffs at him, pausing to fix the pillows, pushing one under Cross’s head. “You had a long day,” Nightmare continues, and his voice is rather fond. “I will be here, and I’ll certainly keep an eye on you. So get some rest.” </p>
<p>He must sense one final bit of resistance, because he adds, “And that’s an order,” with some amusement, like it’s an inside joke. </p>
<p>(Maybe it is. Maybe eventually this will be some horrible inside joke: remember when Cross threw his furniture into the hallway, and then locked himself into his room and triggered himself? Or maybe not.)</p>
<p>Nightmare gives his pelvis a final once over, and then Cross finally closes his eyes. The sensation of the comforter being spread over him, cold air being displaced as Nightmare tucks him beneath it, is what finally lulls him into sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>twitter @avosettas</p></blockquote></div></div>
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